The Ring
by AngstyBob
Summary: A story about how Mick may have come to get his distincitve ring.


**The Ring**

When the war ended, the last thing I wanted to do was hang around Europe. It was bad enough the Army had made me extend my tour to help get Belgium's hospital system up and running again. I wanted to get home, see my mom and dad, and have a nice, big American supper. Like meatloaf and mashed potatoes with lots of gravy. But Richard wanted to visit Paris, and he had been very good to me in the eight months since Katherine had been killed. If it wasn't for him, I don't know what I would've done. So I agreed to go to France with him.

We hopped a troop transport truck to the outskirts of Paris and walked the rest of the way into the city. It was even more beautiful than I had imagined. Richard had his camera out and was snapping pictures of everything and everyone. When we got into town, Richard handed his camera to a funny little French man in a beret and asked him to take a picture of both of us standing next to the Arc de Triomphe. The guy was so happy to meet a couple of American soldiers he shook our hands until we thought they might drop right off, then he took the picture. Then he handed Richard his camera back and kissed each of us on our cheeks and hugged us enthusiastically. That was our welcome to Paris. I was starting to think that I might enjoy it here.

Richard and I ducked into a little roadside café for a beer and a lunchtime snack. Since Richard was the only one who could speak any French, he'd be the one ordering. That was a good thing, because when I saw our waitress, I lost the ability to speak.

She was tall and slender, with a dark, almost Mediterranean complexion; her smoky eyes and thick, full lips highlighted a face framed by beautiful long, dark hair. I only realized I had been staring when Richard kicked me in the shin, bringing me out of my stupor. I smiled awkwardly and muttered an apology. Our waitress didn't seem offended. She smiled back at me, the turned to Richard for his order.

I watched her walk away, mesmerized by her long legs wrapped in fishnet stockings – the kind with a dark line down the back. Again, it took a sharp kick to the shin to bring me back to my senses.

"Geez, Mick," Richard said, "why don't you be a little more obvious?"

"Was it that noticeable?" I asked.

"I'm surprised she didn't slap your face!" Richard said. "You need to work on being subtle."

I barely heard what he said. I was thinking of that lovely face.

Our waitress brought our order out. Two beers, a cheese plate and some crackers. I tried not to stare as she bent forward to place the order on our table. Her blouse fell open just enough to reveal the top of a lacy bra, and a hint of modest cleavage. I forced myself to look up, and saw that she had been watching me, a crooked smile on her face. I must have turned six shades of red.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" she asked in nearly perfect English, her eyebrows raised. Her voice was like silk.

"No, thank you," I said, grabbing my beer and taking a quick gulp. It was strong, and sent a not unpleasant buzz through my head. Our waitress left again, and Richard shook his head.

"Man, I can't take you anywhere!"

We finished our beer and our cheese and crackers, and our waitress again walked over to our table.

"Will there be anything else today?" she asked.

"Just your name." I had blurted it out before I even realized I had meant to say it.

Our waitress smiled at me. "Colecte. Colecte DuVallier," she said, the words rolling off her tongue. "And yours?"

I looked at her uncomprehending. "Huh? Oh! My name's Mick St. John." I extended my hand to her as Richard and I stood up. She took my hand in hers, and it was as if a mild electrical current passed between us. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. St. John." She said. "I hope we'll see you here again?"

"Yes, of course," I said. "Nice to meet you, too, Colecte."

Richard put his arm around my shoulders and led me out of the café.

"Let's go, lover boy," he said. I looked back and saw Colecte watching us leave. She smiled and waved, and I waved back, a stupid schoolboy grin on my face as we passed through the doors and walked back out into the busy streets of Paris.

Richard and I spent a few days in Paris, and throughout the city everyone was glad to meet a couple of GI's from the good ole U.S.A. Everywhere we went, people bought us meals and drinks. It was amazing. But my mind always returned to that little café, and the lovely Colecte. I had gone back and seen her several times, and each time I saw her I swear she was more and more beautiful. We spent a day taking a walking tour of Paris, and we kissed at the top of the Eiffel Tower. I can still feel the way her soft lips felt against mine, the smell of her perfume as I held her close. When it came time for Richard to head back to our base in Belgium, I told him I would be staying in Paris a couple more days.

"Things with Colecte heating up?" he asked me.

"You could say that," I answered. "She's really wonderful, Richard." I valued my best friend's opinion. "What do you think about her?"

For a split second I thought I saw a look of concern flash across Richard's face. Then he was smiling broadly. "I think she's wonderful," he said. "You two are good for each other. Have fun, and I'll hold down the fort until you get back."

"I'm glad you like her," I told him. "I'll catch up with you in a couple of days." That afternoon Richard hopped aboard a troop transport truck headed for Belgium. I grabbed my duffel bag and walked to the café.

When I got there, Colecte was waiting for me in the doorway.  
"I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind," she said. I swept her into my arms and kissed her.

"Not a chance," I said. She took my hand and led me through the café and up the stairs to her small apartment on the second floor. I threw my duffel bag in the corner and sat down on her narrow bed. She closed the door and came over and stood in front of me. She put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me back. She fell into my arms. We made love all afternoon, with the sound of traffic on the busy street outside drifting in through the open window.

The next two days were a pleasant blur. Colecte and I saw everything there was to see and did everything there was to do in Paris. On what was to be my last day in Paris we spread out a blanket and had a picnic lunch along the banks of the Seine. We sipped wine, nibbled sandwiches and talked about ourselves. I told her about my mom and dad back home, how I had been learning to play the guitar before Uncle Sam drafted me into his Army, and about how I had been wounded in the Battle of the Bulge. Colecte told me about her big family – she had six brothers! I asked her why I had never seen them, and she explained that the men had been busy in the vineyards, harvesting the grapes that would become next season's wine. She had been married, but her husband was killed during the war. He had been working for the resistance, and the Nazis rooted him out, along with a group of four other underground operatives. Their death was not a pleasant one at the hands of the S-S. Colecte looked as though she might cry, so I changed the subject.

"What about pets?"

Colecte stared at me blankly for a moment, not seeming to understand the question.

"You know, pets? Dogs? Cats? Birds?" I promoted. Her face lit up as she finally grasped what I was asking her.

"Oh, yes! I had a beautiful cat, a Siamese with a funny name." she said. "You will not laugh if I tell you his name?"

"Scouts honor," I answered. Again the blank look. "I promise," I clarified.

"His name was…Stinky," she said.

"You're kidding!" I spat out. "I had a dog named Stinky!"

"Was he?" Colecte asked. It was my turn to wear a blank stare. "Stinky, I mean. Was he stinky?"

"Oh, a little, maybe," I answered. "Not so bad that you wouldn't want to play with him. though. What about your Stinky?"

"No, not stinky at all," she said. "In fact I'm not sure how we came up with the name."

"What a strange coincidence," I said.

"It is strange, isn't it?" Colecte agreed.

We finished our picnic lunch, folded up the blanket and put our dishes in the basket and went back to Colecte's apartment. By then the sun was setting on my last day in Paris – my last day with Colecte. We made our final night together one to remember. Thinking back on that night can still bring me warmth on a cold day.

Colecte held my hand the next morning as we walked to the spot where I would board the troop transport truck headed for Belgium. The truck wasn't there yet when we arrived, which was good. There was something I needed to ask Colecte. I took both of her hands in mine.

"Colecte, come back to the United States with me," I asked.

Colecte looked down and shook her head gently. "I cannot," she said. "I must stay here in Paris."

"Why?" I asked. "Colecte, I love you."

She looked into my eyes, and I could see the tears welling in hers. "I love you too, Mick," she said, "but I must stay here. Please don't ask me to do something I cannot do."

"But I don't understand," I said. "If we love each other, shouldn't we be together?"

Colecte was silent for a moment. "Mick, someday we'll meet again, but for now I must stay here, and you must return home." Tears had begun to run down her face. I felt my own tears threatening to do the same. I gently wiped her tears away with my hand.

Colecte reached into her pocket. "I have something I want you to have," she said. She held out her hand and opened it. Inside was a beautiful silver ring. I had intricate filigree designs on each side and a beautiful moonstone in the center, framed by a diamond-studded cross.

I was taken aback. "I can't accept that," I said. "It's got to be worth a fortune."

Colecte insisted, holding her hand out to me. "It used to be my husband's," she explained. "He died trying to protect the country and the people he loved. I'm sure he would be happy for you to accept it."

"Are you sure?" I asked, taking her hand in both of mine.

"Yes," she said, pushing the ring into my hand. "And when we meet again, I'll see the ring and know it's you."

I took the ring and started to slide it onto the ring finger of my right hand. Colecte reached forward and guided the ring to my right index finger instead, where it fit perfectly. It was as if the ring had been made for me. I looked at the ring and my vision wavered as tears my spilled down my cheeks. Colecte wiped my tears away and kissed my face. I pulled her close to me and held her tight.

"I love you," I breathed into her ear.

"I love you too."

The moment was broken by the sound of the approaching troop transport truck. I held Colecte out at arms length, taking her in, trying to commit every single thing about her to memory. The truck pulled up and stopped. The driver stuck his head out the window.

"Hey, soldier! You going to the Army Hospital at St. Vith?"

"Yeah, that's where I'm going," I answered, tossing my duffel bag into the back of the truck.

"Then let's get moving," the driver said. "I have to be back on base before nightfall."

"I'll be right there," I said. I pulled Colecte close to me and kissed her one last time, feeling the curves of her body under my hands; the warm, slightly moist press of her lips against mine; her perfume seeming to fill my brain with its sweet scent. The truck driver honked his horn, and we parted. I kissed Colete's hands and reluctantly let them go. She smiled through her tears and turned away. I climbed up into the cab of the truck and closed the door. I watched her reflection grow smaller and smaller in the truck's side view mirror as she waved goodbye. I waved back, the ring gleaming on my finger, hoping she was right – that we'd meet again someday.


End file.
